


Just Gotta Stand It

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brokeback mountain - Freeform, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wouldn’t have gone if Sam hadn’t fixed him with one of his long, sad looks – and even that wouldn’t have worked if the poor guy hadn’t spent all day twitching and wincing, pretending that Lucifer didn’t have a hand jammed up his goddamn ass all the live long day, so it felt more like a favour than a date, and more like torture once he realised what he’d actually signed himself up for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Gotta Stand It

He wouldn’t have gone if Sam hadn’t fixed him with one of his long, sad looks – and even that wouldn’t have worked if the poor guy hadn’t spent all day twitching and wincing, pretending that Lucifer didn’t have a hand jammed up his goddamn ass all the live long day, so it felt more like a favour than a date, and more like torture once he realised what he’d actually signed himself up for. 

“They’re doing a special screening tonight. You know. For Heath’s anniversary.” She said with reverence, hands wrapped around his arm as they walked together. She smiled dreamily. “It’s one of my favourite movies. You’re so cool to go see it with me - most guys wouldn’t have the guts, you know?”

Dean grinned weakly down at her. It was the first ‘date’ (if you could even call it that) he’d been on in about  _three years,_ and realising that, he almost physically winced. It was one thing to devote your life to saving other people; it was another to let your job stop you from getting regularly laid.

He followed her into the theater, anyway, and stood dutifully in line. You weren’t supposed to have to deal with this shit when you were over thirty; stand in line like a fucking idiot whilst the girl excitedly bought tickets and you mulled over whether you wanted milk duds or red vines. He went with the milk duds, in the end; there was a higher chance that he’d choke on one.

Sitting in the dark of the theater, the girl was a lot quieter. She kept looking at him expectantly, like he’d have something to say, and all that was coming to mind was grunts of assent or disinterest. He couldn’t help it; usually he could do the date thing (or at least that was how he remembered it; maybe it’d been a lot easier in high school), spout bullshit about being a mechanic, talk about anything.

 It was a skill learned in practise, and he seemed to have lost it, now; but there was that, and also the fact that this chick obviously just wanted to  _listen,_ and damn it if it wasn’t like going on a date with Sammy or something. He liked, much more, girls who talked over him; girls he could thrum up tension with through good-natured banter, through teasing. With sudden, strange acuteness, he missed the way Pam used to talk to him.  _That_ was the kind of girl you wanted to take out. The kind of girl you could take for a real meal and end up in the back of her car with her later on, and not feel bad about it. He missed her a lot, actually. The girl beside him tightened her grip on his hand, and whispered, “It’s starting!”

He’d never actually seen the film before, despite making jokes about it fairly constantly. He hadn’t seen it for obvious reasons, though – some guy-on-guy  _lovestory_ was about as far from Dean’s preferred genre as it was possible to get.

 The film started; a wide shot of the countryside, Wyoming or something, (though it could just have easily have been Canada, for all he knew) and Dean shuffled in his seat, settling in to be made very, very uncomfortable.

Xxx

So it was awkward. Not as awkward as he’d expected – turned out, for two gay cowboys, Jack and Ennis weren’t actually all that  _gay_  – but awkward all the same. He watched the scene where they had sex with strange, detached wonder – were they  _allowed_  to show shit like this? Jake Gyllenhaal, Heath Ledger – weren’t they straight guys?Didn’t it make them uncomfortable?

It was fierce and raw and terrifying, and Dean didn’t respond when his date laughed and apologised self-consciously in his ear. He watched Jack and Ennis punch eachother, and fuck eachother, and then drive away from eachother.

It didn’t make much sense, in his opinion; especially as the film went on. Ennis had his wife, had two little girls; a  _life._ And then as soon as this fucking guy turns up again, after fucking  _years,_ he just starts making out with him in a fucking parking lot? He frowned when Ennis’ wife cried, when he and Jack gripped eachother against the apartment buildings, their kissing  _hungry, desperate,_ not romantic, not – not what he’d expected, to say the least.

He got bored somewhere in the middle; lost in amongst the meandering plot, the two guys getting older, seeing eachother, not seeing eachother, whatever. At one point he felt himself falling asleep, and fought to keep awake only because the girl kept looking at him, trying to gauge his reaction, just like he always did whenever he roped Sam in to watch another Arnie movie ( _“what do you mean, you’ve never seen ‘Jingle All The Way?’ Sometimes I swear we’re not really related.”)._

But it was the end that stayed with him, the end that woke him up. Different to seeing Anne Hathaway’s boobs (he definitely liked her better brunette). It was the end that made his hands shake, that caused him to have to physically pull his fist off the armrest when the lights finally went up; that made him shrug and pull away and essentially  _run_ from his poor date when she asked him, aghast, what was wrong.

Jack died, and that was pretty fucking sad, to be honest; no one in the fucking movie seemed to get what they wanted – not their wives, not the guys themselves. All they had was eachother but even that didn’t seem to be enough, and they fought and they were cold and distant (and weren’t gay guys supposed to be better at the sharing and caring thing?) but it wasn’t that that had struck him like a cold blow to the face.

Not the wide-open plains, not the fishing or the hunting, not Jake Gyllenhaal’s ridiculous moustache or even the way his wife’s voice sounded when she told Ennis that he’d died.

He stood outside the theatre for maybe an hour, in the darkness, until everyone was gone.

It was cold. He rubbed his hands together; he kicked at the concrete ground, scuffed his boots, dug his hands in and out of his pockets. He hummed for half a second before biting down instead, gritting his teeth. What he’d felt in that theatre was  _fear._ Fear that had made him grip the arm-rest white-knuckled, made his muscles tense and bunch. Fear more visceral, more powerful, than all the monsters he’d ever faced.

Dean had watched Ennis press his face to an old, discarded jacket, and he’d seen himself.

He stood there for a long time, alone, and tried even harder than he had been lately to forget. 


End file.
